


Won't Tell You I Love You

by Laur



Series: Don't Tell Me You Love Me [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 666 Fics Fics Fics (Good Omens), Aziraphale loves Crowley, Didn't use a prompt though, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Love, Love Letter to Crowley, M/M, Pre-Slash, thinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laur/pseuds/Laur
Summary: Aziraphale loves the ocher of Crowley’s eyes. He loves the flame of Crowley’s hair. The wild grin when he speeds in the Bentley, the unintentional hiss in his speech when surprised, the soft smile when he thinks Aziraphale isn’t looking.But he does not tell Crowley he loves him.





	Won't Tell You I Love You

Aziraphale does not tell Crowley he loves him.

Angels love all of God’s creations. It’s part of the job description.

For all that Aziraphale won’t be winning any employee-of-the-century awards, he has always taken the Love part very seriously. He loves humans, even the misbehaved children, non-believers, and those more inclined to Evil than Good. He loves human food, from the umami, salty decadence of sushi to the rich, sweet indulgence of chocolate cake. He loves human drink, from the smooth burn of expensive scotch to the dry tartness of perfectly aged wine. He loves well-fit suits made of quality fabric, old books filled with carefully thought-out words, Schubert, and Beethoven, and Bach, and gravlax with dill sauce.

He imagines a blanket of Love that he drapes over Earth, even its ugly parts, even the parts that are mean.

But he does not tell Crowley he loves him.

“You love everything,” Crowley would say dismissively.

Aziraphale loves the ocher of Crowley’s eyes. He loves the flame of Crowley’s hair. The serpentine sway of his hips when he walks. How the sunglasses come off when it’s just the two of them. The tattoo that seems to wriggle when he laughs. His indolent lounging in every chair. The wild grin when he speeds in the Bentley, the unintentional hiss in his speech when surprised, the soft smile when he thinks Aziraphale isn’t looking. He loves all of that and more. 

“If everyone’s special then no one is,” Crowley would say.

But some people are _more_ special than others. The ones that Heaven sends him after, to persuade with miracles and kindness and grace. The ones that Hell sends Crowley after, to persuade with temptations and wiles and silver-tongued words. The humans that make an impact, swaying Earth towards light or darkness. They are perhaps _more_ special.

That isn’t to say that the rest of humans are not special. The ones that seem to enter and leave the world with hardly a trace. To someone they might even be the _most_ special. Just because they aren’t special for Heaven or Hell does not mean they are unimportant.

Perhaps, then, it’s a matter of perspective: Aziraphale loves everything. He loves Crowley more.

Aziraphale loves Crowley more than gravlax with dill sauce. More than Bach and Beethoven and Schubert. More than old books, well-fit suits, human drink and food. He might even love Crowley more than humans, but Crowley loves humans too.

So Aziraphale doesn’t say ‘I love you’ to Crowley.

Instead, he gives Crowley a thermos of Holy water, though it pains every angelic thing inside him. Instead, he does not let Crowley give up, even when the Apocalypse looms, inevitable. Instead, he goes to Hell for him, and lets Crowley go to Heaven in his place. Instead, he dines with Crowley at the Ritz, then invites him over for drinks and conversation that continues into the night. When Crowley’s eyes droop, he offers his rarely-used bedroom and keeps vigil as the demon sleeps.

If Aziraphale cannot say he loves Crowley, he will do everything else instead.

He will let Crowley sleep for twelve hours, at which point he will put down his book and go wake him with coffee and a kiss. If that is well received (Aziraphale suspects it will be) he will give Crowley every pleasure imaginable and more. He will make Crowley feel good and Loved and _most_ special, for as long as God permits – longer if they can manage it.

“I adore you,” he will whisper, right into Crowley’s ear. “I cherish you,” he will confess, into the hollow of his neck. “I would Fall for you,” he will promise, into the vulnerable flesh of his stomach. “Let me please you,” he will beg, into the quivering join of leg and hip.

Aziraphale loves Crowley too much to say it, too much to tarnish with trite words.

The grandfather clock chimes and Aziraphale smiles. He puts down his book and goes to wake his love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3 Come find me on [Tumblr!](https://notesoflore.tumblr.com/)


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